


vuestro romance

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Chocolate, F/M, Flirting, Romance, Secret Relationship, Shopping, Spies & Secret Agents, Undercover, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skoulson RomFest 2k16 REDUX, DAY 6 · 23 July - secret meetings</p><p>Daisy and Coulson flirt in a chocolate shop and provoke the imagination of the shopgirl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	vuestro romance

The chimes to the front door ring, and she looks up to see a man and woman, trapped in the space together, as though they both arrived at the same time, but only just noticed the other.

Like two comets about to smash, she laughs to herself, only, one steps back, wearing a suit in this summer heat, and politely holds the door open for the other.  
  
He is American, older. Unassuming, but she thinks something about his face is more pleasant than it has the right to be.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
The young woman, too, has an American accent, but harder to place, perhaps. She looks like she could be from anywhere, like she would like to not be noticed at all, but it is hard not to.

If she didn’t read -and try her hand at writing- novelas, she would say they look like _spies_. Not Colombian spies.  The kind from _American_ movies.  
  
"Can I help you?" she asks them, in English.  
  
"Oh, no, thank you," the woman says with a friendly wave, then shoulders her bag and starts to look around the shop.  “¿Puedo mirar alrededor primero?”

“Sí por supuesto.”  
  
Of course they can look around, that’s what you do in a shop. She glances at the man, too, already perusing the carefully wrapped chocolate bars on the shelves, with his back to her.

Huh.  They are all business.  Maybe they have somewhere important to be now that siesta is over?  The man probably works for a corporation and does taxes for expats.  Visits twice a year to keep their books.

Not sure about the woman, but she will come up with something, give it a moment. 

Turning around to the sink to finish washing up the coffee cups from the morning, she twists the tap on.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

She peeks over her shoulder, and sees they've bumped into each other again in their browsing.

It happens this way, sometimes. People in here are always in a good mood. Hardly ever alone, though. Unless they are quick; rushing in and out.

"I’ve heard this is some of the best chocolate in the world," the man says, offhand.

She shuts the water off. The pleasant voice matches the face. 

"A chocolate aficionado?" The woman asks, and she can hear the smile returned in her voice.

"Something like that."  His voice is also charmed, and it’s always intriguing when strangers turn up like this instead of the regulars. 

It gives her ideas for her stories.

She turns to pick up the broom, and hears the woman drum her fingernails on the glass case at the front.  The one with all of the smaller, handmade chocolates.

"Anything you would recommend?"

There is just the _hint_ of flirtation there.  Simply innocent, but he _has_ said that he knows about the chocolate. 

"What are you in the mood for?"

 _Very_ direct. His voice is lower, now, as he steps beside the woman, and she circles the counter to get just a bit closer with her broom.

"Chocolate?"

The woman raises her eyebrow, like it’s a test, and she glances at her writing pad, sitting by the register.  All her little notes scribbled into it.

Her memory is terrible, and she likes to write _en el momento_ , but obviously it is out of reach.

"Of course,” he answers, in that smooth, quiet voice, as he puts his arm up against the case to lean. “What else would I be asking about?"

His eyes meet hers for a moment, over the woman’s shoulder, and she looks down and starts to sweep.  Harder.

“Anything?  Siesta, for instance."  The woman stares more closely at the case, not giving him any of her attention, but he can’t resist an opportunity to recapture it, she thinks.

"Siesta is _very_ pleasant,” he tells her.  But with a bashful smile, like he is hiding something more behind it.  

"And very restful,” the woman adds, her eyes following along the row of pastilles.

"Not always.  Sometimes you wish it was _longer_."  She imagines him drawing in a long breath, waiting to see if the woman will answer or brush him away.

Instead, she stands up straight and steps closer to him.

Have they never met? Or is this two comets crashing together and become one?

"You asked me what _I_ was in the mood for,” she reminds him, guiding him towards something.

“But we only just met. “ His answer is coy, as he unbuttons his jacket.  “You should tell me more about your moods.”

And what if it’s just imagination, but they are so close now, only a breath away-

Her broom clatters to the floor, slipping from her hands in excitement, and the two guests jump a bit, as she scrambles to pick it up. 

She ruined everything, and they will go off spinning into space now on different paths.

Organize the shelves, instead of sweep.  It’s ruining her moods.  And also, she can’t hear, because they’re talking so low now. Derrota!

“I prefer a little bit of bitterness,” she hears the woman tell him, as she sets her bag down on the floor.

She comes around the counter in an attempt to help them.  And, hear this conversation.

“Bitterness?” he says, with an aching sigh.  “What about something sweet?”

“Not _too_ sweet.” The woman is guarded, pushing away.  But surely, they are meant to smash together, she can feel it.

“On the inside, then?”  And he falters at sounding smooth, when the woman looks provoked. “Like a surprise?”

Yes, exactly, the sweetness is the surprise!  She should write this down.

“Yes.” The woman answers, slowly, nods her head, mas rápido, like she is waiting for something to happen.

“That would make it sweet on the outside, too,” he tells her, tilting his head. “You just can’t contain what's inside, it’s so…sweet.”

Why don’t they collide?!  It’s Fate!

She can’t take it anymore.

“Besarla! You don’t? I will!”

They both laugh a little, startled enough to be embarrassed and seem chastised. The woman's hand is on his arm, sliding along it to his wrist, and she sees their fingers join.

It occurs to her, then, that he’s had his hand on the small of her back, all along.

“Four of the milk chocolates?” he asks, his ears a little pink, and his face drawn in a smirk. “With the vanilla crème inside. ¿Por favor?”

The woman looks down, through her long eyelashes, and leans against his body, like she wants to hide there.

Then, she busies herself building up the box and bending to carefully lift the chocolates inside of it.

She is about to hand them over, when she draws the box back, just out of reach.

“How should I write the ending?” she demands.

“The ending to what?” he asks, with a small frown.

“Vuestro romance.”

He smiles then, taken off guard, but seeming delighted, and turns to the woman next to him. “They live happily ever after?”

“And save the world.  _Tons_ ,” the woman adds.

“Are you spies?” she asks, shoving the box at the woman, rolling with her earlier suspicions, knowing the little games they play.

“Ex-spies,” he shrugs.  “We got fired at being spies.  At least, I did.”

She rolls her eyes at his cheekiness and takes the money that the woman hands over.

“Now we’re just superheroes,” the woman says, and bites her lips, like she’s trying not to laugh.

“She is, not me,” the man says, pointing to the woman, egging her on.  “But, you can give him a flying car.”

“Give him, who?” she asks, looking between them both.  “Why a flying car?”

“The guy, in your story,” he says, opening the box and taking out a chocolate to eat, as the woman tugs him towards the door. “Because, it’s cool.”

“Good luck with your story,” the woman says, over her shoulder, as the front door opens.

She touched it, didn’t she, before the door opened? Before it chimed.  Of course she did.

“Bye. Who would need a flying car?” she whispers to herself, and glances at the front of the store, thinking more about the strange couple.

It _is_ probably just her imagination, she thinks, when she sees the flash of red whiz past the window.

But she goes to the door anyway. She runs, actually, and flings it open to look down the street then up into the sky.

Okay. 

He can have the flying car.


End file.
